Before the Frost
by Mango Schmango
Summary: Bart/Evelyn. Bart once loved so passionately, unselfishly and completely. Then she was tragically taken away from him and that was when the frost set in, removing the last shred of warmth from him. A three part story.
1. Chapter 1

**Part One**

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Gossip Girl. I'm just showing my appreciation for it in a non-profit way. **

Twenty-eight year-old Bart Bass first came across Evelyn Darnay at a tepid society Plaza party. She was resplendent in a purple backless gown and diamond earrings, her mahogany hair cascading down her back in loose curls. Her almond shaped chocolate eyes were dramatically outlined in charcoal black, accentuating her sharp cheekbone structure and full red lips. She was accompanied by an assortment of school friends and male admirers. To Bart's trained eye, she was the Queen Bee and the rest were fawning ants badgering for a piece of her attention.

Bart was not sure why his attention riveted upon her. There were many attractive women present—many of whom had already shared his bed and hastily discarded by him. Maybe it was because of the remote expression on her face, as if she longed to be somewhere else instead of in this buzzing room of power playing and artifice. Maybe it was because he could understand that sense of remoteness, as he had risen from humble beginnings and was often isolated at social events because people looked down upon him as 'nouveau riche'. Of course, he had a myriad of corporate contacts but they were not friends. They were people he manipulated and controlled in his objective of conquering the New York skyline.

As if Evelyn could sense someone watching her, she twisted her head and her eyes locked upon his. Bart did not flinch. He merely lifted his glass to her with an incline of his head. He could see something flicker in the cool depths of her eyes as he observed her mutter something to her followers and break away from them, gracefully crossing over to him on the other side of the room.

"Miss Darnay," he politely greeted her.

"I'm surprised you know my name, Mr. Bass." she swiftly replied, her manicured nail tracing the rim of her champagne glass.

"Who would not know the name of the Alliance Bank CEO's daughter? You are all over the social papers."

"As are you, Mr. Bass—or should I say, 'Big Bad Bass' or 'Basstard'?"

Bart quirked his lips. This was a remarkable step-up in conversation from the previous brain-dead muppets he had encountered. This young woman intrigued him. "They are charming epithets, aren't they?"

A smile flickered over her face like the sun peaking through the clouds. "Those names don't trouble you?"

Bart smirked. "No. Being feared is an important asset in business. I would hardly have got where I am now if I had meekly submitted myself to other people's wishes."

"What about being liked and admired?" she murmured.

"As much as I would love to discuss the philosophy of whether it is better to be feared or loved, I would prefer to shift to a different subject such as why would a woman such as yourself make the time to talk to an old man like me?"

Her eyes gleamed. "You do not seem like an old crone, Mr. Bass. How old are you?"

"Twenty-eight. And you?"

"Eighteen. Nineteen in two months."

"Ah. Well, I don't think it would be appropriate for you to be talking to a man like me."

He could not help but smile at the playful smirk on her face. "Mr. Bass, I know your reputation for deflowering women and I assure you that my chastity belt is secured tightly against your nefarious advances."

Bart stepped closer to her, holding out his glass to her. "Shall we make a toast to your chastity belt and my domination of New York's skyline?"

Evelyn laughed, a rich clear sound that was if someone had uncorked a bottle of champagne and the bubbles foamed over, as she gracefully clinked her glass against his own. Bart was about to speak when a heavily perfumed woman with make-up slathered on her face like a second mask and jewellery adorning her like a Christmas tree, grabbed Evelyn by the arm.

"Mother!" Evelyn exclaimed, red with embarrassment. "What are you doing?"

The woman identified as Evelyn 's mother shot Bart a vicious look and then she turned back to her daughter. "What are you doing talking to that man? Everyone is whispering about you!"

Unfazed, Bart held out his hand. "Bartholomew Bass, Mrs. Darnay."

Mrs. Darnay thrust a finger at Bart. "I know who you are," she hissed. "And I want you to stay away from my daughter. I'm not going to let you ruin my daughter's chance to be engaged to Peter Howard. We have been working on it for months, and—"

"I was not aware that this was Victorian England," Bart interposed calmly.

Mrs. Darnay nearly foamed at the mouth. "Come away, Evelyn ."

Evelyn 's face was a picture of composure. "I apologize, Mr. Bass, for the scene. I enjoyed our talk."

"Farewell, Miss Darnay."

Mrs. Darnay practically dragged Evelyn away. Bart could see people tittering and hear people gossiping, but he refused to allow them to enjoy his discomfort. Instead, he coolly drank his champagne without an inflection of emotion upon his face.

* * *

The following Saturday afternoon, Bart had just finished reducing his secretary Wendy to tears after she double-booked two important meetings when his second secretary Elise timidly entered his office.

"Yes?" he tersely asked.

"A Miss Darnay is here to see you. She has no appointment but she insists on seeing you."

Bart kept his face inscrutable. "Send her in, Elise."

There was a rustle, some low voices and footsteps. Finally Evelyn stepped into his office without a trace of self-consciousness. She was garbed in a fitted sombre black dress and a tailored black jacket with gold buttons. Her hair was swept back in a bun and she wore pointy black heels, with pearls around her neck and on her ears.

Bart formed a steeple with his hands on his desk. "Miss Darnay, what brings you here?"

"I wanted to apologize for the scene my mother made at the Plaza the other week."

Bart raised an eyebrow. "You weren't at fault, Miss Darnay. You don't need to apologize for your mother."

For a moment, her elegant composure faltered. "Oh."

At the vulnerable sound of her voice, an emotion rose in his chest that Bart refused to identify. His face softened. "Miss Darnay—"

She quickly recovered her self-possession. "Please call me Evelyn. When you call me Miss Darnay, I feel as if I'm in the principal's office being told off for smoking."

"Then you can call me Bart."

"Not Bartholomew?" Evelyn enquired.

"If you call me Bartholomew I shall feel as if I'm back in Sunday school being lectured by the fundamentalist Miss Cropley," countered Bart.

A small grin flickered across her lips. "You are a man of words."

"And you're not exactly lost for words yourself." He gestured to the empty seat. "Take a seat if you like."

Evelyn took a seat and crossed her legs while Bart could not help but notice her slim legs and shapely ankles. Suddenly, an impulse seized him to ask her out for lunch that he could not quash. "Evelyn, would you like to accompany me for lunch?"

"Now?"

Bart stood up and seized his coat from the rack. "Yes, now. Does the Melusine suit?"

Evelyn stared at him. "The Melusine? You need to book at least three months in advance to get a table."

"I don't, Evelyn. I took over the Melusine last year as a silent partner—if I want a table, I will get a table."

Her lips curved into a slow smile. "I'm impressed, Bart."

"You should be," he smirked.

He held out his hand. She hesitated for a brief moment but then she placed her hand in his.

* * *

After dropping Evelyn off at her house in his company limousine, Bart found himself reflecting over the lunch—something he had never done with any of his previous dates. She had been engaging, frank and amusing—more interesting than the mindless gold-diggers he had wined, dined and bedded.

They had a private alcove and spent two and a half hours talking over Moet and seafood. Amazingly, the time passed by quickly and Bart had been completely enraptured by the cadence of her voice as she told him about her life and scandalous stories about various society icons. He could barely keep the grin off his face when she leaned over to him and murmured with relish that he was more than welcome to use the information she gave him against certain individuals.

Though there was ten years difference between them, Bart thoroughly enjoyed her company, finding her to be refreshing and intelligent company. She was—to excuse the cliché—more than a beautiful face.

And as he watched her go inside, Bart was struck by an uncommon feeling of wanting her happiness more than his.

* * *

The following evening, Bart was sipping Scotch when the door to his penthouse buzzed. He got off the couch and opened the door to Evelyn. She was smiling widely.

"Hey you," she said.

Despite his plan to maintain a cool composure, he found himself grinning back. "Hello to yourself. Come on in."

She shrugged off her coat to reveal a strappy red dress and matching red heels with little roses on each point. "I told my parents that I was going out with Lily tonight and that I would be back by twelve."

"So we have four hours?" he asked, his eyes lingering on hers.

She boldly threaded her fingers through his. "Yes."

They stood for a moment in silence. Bart wanted to kiss her but was afraid he was moving too fast. He did not want to behave like he had with other women. He wanted to be a gentleman, someone she could trust—not a dirty old man pawing at her.

As if she could read his mind, she gave him a soft peck on the cheek, her perfume lingering in his senses as she breathed in his ear, "Are you going to kiss me, Bart?"

He freed his left hand and cupped her cheek. "Are you sure?"

Evelyn mutely nodded, her eyes never leaving his.

He then led her inside to his penthouse, gently shutting the door behind them while never letting go of her hand until they stood in the centre of the living room.

She leaned forward into the contact, their foreheads touching. He rubbed his cheek against Evelyn's and then his lips brushed across hers almost tentatively. When he saw that Evelyn did not flinch, he leaned in again and this time, his lips pressed against hers more confidently. She responded to him, her lips opening under his and her free hand curving around the base of his neck, a small sigh escaping her lips. Bart's other hand went moved from her cheek into her loose hair, brushing through it. He kissed Evelyn as if he was silently reassuring her that he was not going to try anything untoward and that he was overwhelmed by the intensity of how everything felt, and Evelyn understood perfectly. She melded her body against his as his hands enfolded her.

"Bart," she breathed when he moved to the milky white of her neck. Her eyes fluttered shut, her fingers running over his close-cropped hair.

Bart could barely think coherently. Her floral perfume and breathy sighs at his ministrations were driving him wild. He had never felt this way about any woman before.

Until _her_.

Evelyn Darnay.

She was the first woman Bart did not treat with disdain or contempt. She was incomparable.

Evelyn backed Bart against his couch, straddling him while her lips never once left his own. Despite his body urging him on, Bart clasped her head in his hands, stilling her movements. Her swollen lips and heavy-lidded eyes almost undid his resolve as he attempted to bring his erratic breathing under control.

"Evelyn, we can't…"

She blinked uncomprehendingly. "Can't what?"

"Have sex," Bart said bluntly, tact never his strong point.

Evelyn went red and she tried to extricate herself from his arms. "Oh my God, I'm so embarrassed…I-I-"

"No, no. It's not that I don't want to, but I want to treat you right. You're not like the other women and I certainly don't want to treat you like them. I want to take it slow," reassured Bart, placing a lingering kiss on her lips. As he did so, she ceased struggling in his arms and she returned his kiss.

She threaded their fingers together again, her embarrassment rapidly subsiding at his words. "You are a contradictory man, Bart Bass."

He bowed his forehead against hers, so that they were only inches apart. "How about on the night you turn nineteen, we…"

Evelyn smiled softly at his uncharacteristic loss of words. "Make love?" she whispered.

"Consider it my birthday present to you," he murmured, his warm breath sending tingles through her.

"You, Bart Bass of reputed insatiable sexual appetite, will wait for just under two months to—"

He cut her off with another prolonged kiss and said against her lips, "I told you—you're not like any other woman I've ever met, and you deserve the best."

A choked sound came from her throat. "Bart…I'm…"

He brushed his lips across her forehead. "Surprised?"

Her eyes ducked from his. "I have something to tell you."

"What?"

"I'm not a virgin."

Bart pressed a kiss to each of her tapered fingers on her left hand. "I don't care."

Evelyn looked as if she was about to cry. "You don't?"

"I'm not from the Dark Ages, Evelyn."

She smiled radiantly, her eyes like warm mocha as she peppered kisses over the harsh contours of his face. "The more I learn about you, Bart, the more you surprise me."

She looked upon this man who was known to be cold, calculating and ruthless, but to her, he was a reserved man who kept his emotions in check to protect himself. In the glow of his fireplace, his face was uncommonly warm and relaxed.

"Would you like some wine?" he asked.

"If that means you moving away from me, then no," she laughed softly.

"I'll be quick—you'll be impressed with my superhuman speed," he intoned with mock gravitas, gently placing her on the couch as he rose to the table and unscrewed a red wine.

She could not stop herself grinning like an idiot, feeling as if butterflies were dancing around her stomach. Bart paused at the table when he saw her glowing expression. He tipped his head to examine her. "What?" he asked, amusement lacing his voice.

She kicked off her heels. "Nothing," she imperiously replied.

He smirked and settled beside her on the couch, handing her a glass of wine as he slid his arm around her. "Something must be making you smile like that. The only time a woman has smiled at me like you just have was when I had to fork out half a million dollars because she claimed I fired her without just cause."

Evelyn snorted. "I don't want to make your ego any bigger."

"Fine, fine," said Bar huskily, kissing her once more. "You keep your secrets."

"Are you sure you want to wait till my birthday?" Evelyn purred, placing her glass on the table so she could lean back on the couch, pulling him on top of her.

"Having you lying underneath me is stretching my willpower not to ravish you here and now," he replied, his voice muffled by the skin on her neck.

She gave a breathless sigh, arching her hips up to his.

"You are incorrigible," he groaned, giving her a searing kiss.

"I'm impressed with your self-control."

"You should be."

Bart had never been this carefree with anyone before. Evelyn was the first person he could let down his guard with and trust. She made him forget all the caution he normally applied to his relationships with women. He had only known her for a month, but already he felt as if he had known her for years. The more he found out about her, the more he was attracted to her. Indeed, the composed, regal façade that she projected to society hid the vivacious, generous and sensuous woman that he saw.

And an intensity of emotion gripped him that he did not really want to examine or label at this very moment.

Love.

**End of Pa****rt One. I hoped you enjoyed it! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two**

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Gossip Girl. I'm just showing my appreciation for it in a non-profit way.**

Lily eyed her best friend. "Are you alright, Evelyn? You look as if you're in another alternative universe."

Evelyn blinked. "Sorry, Lils. I was just thinking."

"About Bart?"

"Shh!" she hissed. "Why don't you broadcast it to the entire school!"

"No one heard."

Evelyn rolled her eyes.

"Are you sure this fling with Bass is a smart idea? You know what kind of man he is," Lily continued in a lower voice.

"And what kind of man is that?"

"Ruthless, manipulative, a womaniser, and emotionally repressed."

"He's not like that with me!" defensively snapped Evelyn. "He's changed."

"Evelyn, I don't want you getting hurt—you know that 'happy' and 'Bass' don't go in one sentence."

"You don't even know him," she retorted.

"I know his reputation well enough, Evelyn, and I know that you're setting yourself up for pain."

Evelyn's cheeks were inflamed by barely suffused anger. "Listen to this, Lily: if Bart was such a cheating bastard, then why has he agreed not to sleep with me until I turn nineteen?"

"How do you know that he's not 'plowing' some other slut behind your back," asked Lily bluntly.

"How dare you insinuate such a thing!"

"I'm being a realist and honest. A man of his standing and power would have a dozen ladies for every night of the week. What makes you think you're any different?"

Evelyn snatched up her shoulder bag and stalked off the school property while ignoring Lily's apologetic calls for her to come back.

* * *

It was ten minutes before four pm and Bart was scanning over the details of a new contract he was drawing up for his takeover of a small advertising firm, when his phone rang.

"Bartholomew Bass speaking."

"Bart, don't be such a pompous ass."

Bart clenched his jaw at the smug drawl of his twenty-one year old spendthrift brother. "What do you want, Jack? "

"I'm calling you up to let you know that there's something unpleasant brewing."

"Stop being cryptic. This isn't a scene from bloody Macbeth."

"My brother the literary giant—who knew?"

"As much as I would love to engage in a battle of wits for the remainder of the afternoon, I do have a business to attend to—get to the point."

"Touchy, touchy. I thought I'd give you a brotherly heads up."

"Are you on crack?"

Jack snorted. "Dream on! I wouldn't give you the chance to boot me out from the company."

"A man can dream."

"_Anyway_, there's a piece coming out on our family history in _The New York Times_."

"How come I didn't know any of this?"

"Because I rang them up and offered to help them," Jack sweetly responded.

Bart could sense his brother's poison seep through the phone connection all the way from Sydney, Australia. "What did you tell them?"

"I told them all about _dear _old dad's drinking problem and his penchant to belt you across the backside until you bled or fainted, _and_ I told them about our _saintly_ mother running off with dad's barber, leaving us to the mercy of _dear daddy_—"

"Listen to me, you little bastard—if you think you can topple me from my own company with this pathetic plot that seems to be ripped from a D-grade comic book, then you're sorely mistaken."

Jack practically cooed down the phone: "And why would you think that I would do such a heinous thing like that?"

* * *

Evelyn was about to sneak out to meet Bart for drinks when her maid Elsie entered her room and handed her a note. "From Mr. Bass, Miss Darnay."

Evelyn snatched the letter from her and flipped the simple white paper open. On it was only two abrupt sentences written in Bart's crisp handwriting:

_E,_

_I'll have to cancel tonight as some important business has occurred that I cannot delay. _

_B._

Evelyn scrunched up the paper and threw it in the bin. "You can cancel my car, Elsie. I won't be needing it tonight after all."

"No problem, Miss Darnay."

Once Elsie left the room, Evelyn dialed Bart's private number.

"Bass Industries, Michelle speaking."

"Could I please speak to Mr. Bass? It is a matter of some urgency," said Evelyn.

"Name?"

"Evelyn Darnay."

"Hold please."

The phone was silent for a few moments when the nasally Michelle came back on the phone. "Mr. Bass is not able to take any calls at the moment. Can I take a message?"

Evelyn wanted to throw up. "No, don't worry."

"Thanks for calling Bass Industries. Enjoy your evening."

Evelyn switched the phone off without even bothering to reply.

Lily's earlier words echoed around Evelyn's head as she stared at Bart's torn message in the bin: _"How do you know that he's not 'plowing' some other slut behind your back?"_

Maybe Lily was right. Maybe she was setting herself up for disaster.

* * *

The following day, Evelyn attempted to contact Bart again, only to be rebuffed by the same chirpy Michelle. Evelyn gritted her fists. She was not the type of person to be snubbed by anyone—no matter how rich and powerful they were.

Deciding not to call Bass Industries again and humiliate herself, Evelyn decided that she was going down to Bass Industries and confront Bart. That way, she would be able to see for herself whether he was only stringing her along for his own perverse amusement.

Lily's words kept echoing around in her head, strengthening her pride. She shrugged out of her Constance uniform and put on her best black dress, her black wrap and black heels. She tied her hair into a chignon and added a rope of pearls, with a touch of gloss,

She then stared at her reflection in the mirror. The image that was reflected back at her radiated composure. Icy and cool. Bart would see that she was no flimsy violet to be trodden over.

* * *

Bart rubbed his temples. He had been answering calls from the press, investors and associates all morning, and as such, his emotionless façade was being stretched to the limit. So far, he had managed to assuage the majority of the callers, who saw that the 'rags to riches' story was beneficial to the company's image. Everyone always loved an underdog story.

Damage control did not seem as onerous as he had originally expected.

His intercom buzzed, the shrill sound intensifying his migraine.

"What?" he snapped.

"A Miss Darnay is waiting in the foyer to speak to you. She has no appointment, but Michelle has left a note saying that this is the same woman who has been trying to contact you for the last twenty-four hours. Would you like me to contact security, sir?"

"No, Emma. Just tell the lady I'm unable to see her."

"As you wish, sir. There's a telephone conference with the German stockbroker, Sebastian Muhler in ten minutes—he wants to discuss today's article in the _Times_."

Bart pinched the bridge of his nose as the tension filled his body. He forced out the warm image of Evelyn—an intoxicating combination of the erotic and the innocent—sprawled under him on the couch, her eyes gleaming, and her full, red lips curved up in a lazy smile, out from his mind.

He had to concentrate on the survival of his company. That was what had got him through his life, kept the demons of his childhood at bay, and kept him from sinking under into his own black sea of melancholia.

Nothing else mattered.

* * *

Bart finally arrived home at nine-fifteen and was ready to collapse. He had only a measly sandwich and a cup of milky tea since 5am, and his head was ready to split open.

So tired was he that he did not even notice his light in the lounge was on.

"Hello, Bart."

Bart jolted around, annoyance flooding him. No one had ever caught him off guard before. "What the hell?"

Evelyn rose up off the couch like a graceful apparition of a classical muse. "You can't avoid me forever, Bart. "

"How long have you been here?"

"Since the afternoon."

"Who gave you permission to enter my apartment?" he snapped.

Evelyn's eyes flared. "You're a bastard, Bart. How dare you treat me like crap! I should have listened to Lily when she told me you would treat me like all your other women, and dump me on the curb like a piece of rubbish when you tired of me."

And Bart, who's best weapon in the face of conflict was a cool barb that rolled effortlessly off his tongue, said in a deliberately mocking voice: "Well, you should have listened to your dear Lily who seems to have so much insight into the human condition."

"I defended you to her. I said you were unlike any other man I had ever met. But then you ignored me for two days, with only a cold note—"

"I told you when we first met, that I was hardly the sort of man you should be associating with," said Bart coolly.

Evelyn trembled but she did not crumble against Bart's iron composure like a lesser woman would have, and she bravely soldiered on. "I was so angry at you, and hurt…and then, I saw the article in the Times this afternoon, and all I wanted to do—" her voice broke, her eyes unwavering on his. "…and all I wanted to do was hold you and reassure you that I didn't care what your past was—that I was so proud of who you've become and how far you've raised yourself…"

Her voice trailed off, her chest rising and falling as she vainly attempted to retain her emotions. Bart found he could not speak. It was as if someone has just wielded a sledgehammer into his gut and kicked him in the back of his kneecaps.

Evelyn continued in a hoarse voice: "All I want to know, Bart, is where I stand with you. I don't want to be jerked around with. I'm not a girl who accepts leftovers or halves."

"Evelyn…"

Humiliatingly, Bart could not articulate himself. His heart was so full of this headstrong and imperious, yet warm and vital girl. He was a man who had conquered half the New York skyline, but he could not find the words he wanted to say to her.

Evelyn read the intensity, the desire and possessiveness of his gaze. Her heart constricted and all the anger she had been harboring earlier fled from her like air from a balloon.

She let out a choked sound and within a few steps, she flung her arms around him and held him tight. Bart's arms snaked out around her waist, nearly crushing her to him and lifting her feet slightly off the ground.

Neither of them spoke. The only sound was their heavy breathing.

"Please don't push me out," she whispered in his ear, as her hands lightly caressed his neck and his close-cropped hair. "I wish you had told me about your childhood—I never knew that you suffered so much."

Bart only tightened his hold on her, burying his head in her neck as if she was a life source from which he could gain succor.

* * *

From then on, Bart and Evelyn's relationship went to a new level. Evelyn now understood that work was always going to play a large part in Bart's life and she would have to work around that. Bart would not be the man he was if he was not entirely dedicated to Bass Industries.

Every Friday night at 7pm, Evelyn was escorted up the elevator by Bart's bodyguard Clint and taken to Bart's study. She would settle herself on his couch and study for her exams while he sat at his massive mahogany desk and poured through papers or bark on the phone to various minions.

Bart felt so at ease in her company as she quietly flicked through her schoolwork. It took all his self-control not to ravish her on the leather couch as she stretched herself out and crossed her slim legs while highlighting important passages.

Bart liked the fact Evelyn did not badger him for attention and merely kept to herself. He looked forward to their Friday nights together and sent her little gifts every Wednesday, such as a bunch of perfumed lilies (her favourite flowers) to signify he was thinking of her. He sometimes wondered if she was deliberately tempting him with her indecently short dresses, sheer stockings, high heels and highly styled hair.

Indeed, she was an exotic nymph that he never tired of. She somehow managed to be elegant and highly sensual at the same time without appearing like a cheap, perfumed whore. It was as if a mature woman was inside the body of an eighteen year-old girl.

At 9:30pm exactly on a Friday night, he would put down his papers and slowly approach her on the couch. She would smirk and open her arms to him, allowing herself to be flipped on top of him, her legs entangling with his. They would kiss passionately, hands and mouths exploring each other, but never quite breaking the boundary that Bart placed a couple weeks ago.

Bart would then bring her back to his apartment in his limo and then he would encircle her in his arms while they shared a bottle of Moet by his fireplace in between numerous kisses and caresses.

He had never treated a woman like this. She was the only one he had bothered to take the time to get to know. He somehow perversely thanked his brother Jack for his devious scheme, because there were now no secrets between him and Evelyn.

Before her, Bart could not care less about the troubles of his conquests, but with Evelyn, he was completely enraptured by her. He could listen to her recounts of her school life and the empty vassals that inhabited it without yawning or tuning out.

In return, Evelyn would listen to his accounts of the day with genuine interest and ask questions if she did not understand what he was talking about, unlike other women he had screwed who would inanely giggle and pretend to comprehend the complexities of his work.

She could speak fluent French (because of her French roots—and if Bart was really honest, listening to her speak French was bloody sexy), basic Italian (because she had a few cousins in Italy) and a bit of German after spending some time there on a modeling shoot.

He still could not comprehend how this girl had dominated his life.

It was inconceivable.

* * *

Evelyn's birthday rolled around before she could even register it. Her mother was like a robot on steroids and amphetamines, running around the house (as fast as her bulk could carry her, that is) and barking orders at the numerous caterers that milled like oppressed worker ants through the Darnay's lavish, white marbled mansion.

Evelyn could not see Bart at all in the week leading up to her grand birthday bash as her mother was nearly suffocating her with the birthday planning. Evelyn sat through so many planning sessions, dress fittings, catering meetings, make-up and hair tests, invitation design groups, photographer discussions ("Black or white to suit your classical bone structure, my dear?"), champagne breakfasts and fashion shows, that she thought her head would be completely lopped off her shoulders and fall into a basket like Marie Antoinette's head.

And throughout all this anarchic business, her father benignly stood by and docilely accepted his wife's ideas. No amount of money was too much for his beloved daughter.

The only bright light was that she would be spending the aftermath of her party with Bart. In between her mother's incessant orders, Evelyn had managed to snag herself some alluring lingerie to wear under her lavender gown (her trademark colour) that she was sure would make Bart go crazy.

"You look gorgeous, darling," breathed her mother, dramatic tears filling her eyes. "Aren't you glad you followed my advice?"

Evelyn inwardly rolled her eyes but kissed her mother's cheek. "Thanks, mother."

Evelyn's Grecian one shoulder lavender gown hugged her torso like a second skin and then flowed out at her hips, making it seem as if she was swathed in a romantic lavender glow. A serpentine gold bracelet was wound around her arm and chandelier style earrings with purple gems dangled from her ears. Her hair was in a loose chignon while her eyes were dramatically outlined in black, reminiscent of Elizabeth Taylor from _Cleopatra_.

Elsie's entrance with a large bouquet of lilies into Evelyn's room interrupted the uneasy mother and daughter interlude. "These came for you, Miss Darnay."

Mrs. Darnay raised an eyebrow. "Who sent you those frightful funereal lilies?"

"Mother," Evelyn warned, knowing full well who sent them. "You know lilies are my favourite flowers."

"I have no idea why you like them. They remind me of death and funerals."

"Please, mother," sighed Evelyn, trying to fight down the blush that was rising up her cheeks.

"Darling, why can't you be like any other normal teenage girl and like roses?" She frowned. "Who sent you those?'

Before Evelyn could move them from her mother's reach, Mrs. Darnay snatched the bouquet and searched for a card, but found nothing. "Who sent you these without even leaving a card?" she demanded.

Evelyn, now calm that Bart did not leave anything incriminating, said coolly, "It is just Lily's idea of a joke, mother. Don't have a heart attack."

Mrs. Darnay relaxed. "Well, tell that girl to get a better sense of humour."

Evelyn managed a smile. "No problem—I'll be sure to do so."

* * *

Though Bart had been the one to insist that they keep their relationship secret, standing in large Darnay ballroom all the while watching men flock around the resplendent Evelyn, made him wonder whether he really wanted to hide their relationship anymore.

Humiliatingly, he found pangs of jealousy clawing at him as boys laughed and flirted with her. He felt possessive and did not like Evelyn showering attention on them. He wanted to be the only recipient of her affections, not those obnoxious rich boys who would never know what it would be like to claw their way up from poverty and abuse to head an empire.

He only wanted those hands on him, not on the arms of those St. Judes boys.

His mind could not help but drift to the night ahead, where he would be finally able to fuck her and hear her moan his name. He would finally be able to feel her body uninhibited by articles of clothing and be given a full, uncensored view of the soft, doe-like skin that was occasionally tantalisingly bared to him through a plunging neckline or a short sleeve top or dress. He would finally be able to feel her hands and mouth on him without boundaries. The fact that she was no virgin did not bother him. He welcomed it, wanting no shrinking lamb in bed with him.

He would make all her previous experiences pale in comparison to what they would share tonight.

Bart was jolted from his musings by the sight of that Peter Hawk, Howard or something, saunter up to Evelyn and slip his arm through hers. Bart tightened as he saw that smirking moron whisper something in her ear. Bart has no illusions as to what the twat was saying. His leering glance said it all.

Anger and jealousy swirled in his gut.

He suddenly knew what he had to do.

Damn all the consequences.

* * *

"Hey babe, why have you been avoiding all my calls and letters?" Peter murmured in her ear, his alcohol-laden breath making her want to hurl.

Evelyn successfully removed herself from his clutches with as much dignity and grace as she could muster. "Please leave me alone, Peter."

"What the hell?" Peter snapped.

Evelyn, thinking that he was snapping at her, was about to reply with something cutting, when she felt someone tap her on the shoulder.

She spun around, her dress swirling around like a soft lavender wave.

It was Bart.

He wordlessly held out his hand to her.

And she—unable to prevent a soft smile from appearing on her face—placed her hand in his without a moment's hesitation, her hazel eyes never leaving his mercurial grey ones.

Whispers filled the room as he led her to the dance floor. In her periphery vision, she vaguely registered her mother's outraged face and Lily's shocked expression.

But she did not care at all.

Screw the consequences.

"You and I, eh?" she breathed in his ear.

His eyes gleamed. "You and I."

**End of Part II. Please review and tell me what you think—it would be most appreciated! **


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